Chapter 220

In the stillness, Samuel stood, immobilized. His back was turned to Layla, his black suit a picture of tranquility, yet it seemed detached from the emotional turmoil around him.

His tall and slender figure, which once provided Layla with a sense of security and comfort, now radiated an aura of indifference. The coldness emanating from him seeped into her bones, chilling her to the marrow.

Layla's heart plummeted, sinking into the abyss of a seemingly bottomless ice field.

"Samuel..." she whispered.

However, Samuel's pause was fleeting, lasting only a brief second, perhaps even less, before he climbed into the car.

Layla remained rooted to the spot, watching as Samuel drove away. Her heart, already fissured, now shattered into countless fragments. Tears floated through the air as she slowly sank to the ground, hugging her knees, and surrendered to her sobs.

A white Bentley pulled up at the entrance of the apartment building.

Layla's eyes were vacant, reminiscent of a soulless doll.

Anthony watched Layla with a tender gaze as she walked past him, but it seemed as though she was oblivious to his presence.

"Let me take you up," he offered.

Her long eyelashes were heavy with droplets of tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. Her makeup was smeared, her eyelids darkened. "No need," she replied weakly.

She raised her hand, removing her tiara.

"This was a gift for you. I hope you can accept it."

"To you, it's a gift, but to me, it's a burden," Layla responded calmly, her words measured and controlled.

Anthony was taken aback.

A burden. Were his feelings also a burden to Layla?

"I will wait until you're ready," Anthony said, accepting the tiara.

He couldn't bear to impose any pressure on Layla.

She pushed open the car door and stepped out.

"Layla..." Anthony reached out to her, "I will always be here. You're not alone."

Inside the car.

"Samuel, why didn't you help me get the tiara back earlier? That's the Eilish family's money, three hundred million. How can Layla just accept it like that?"

"Now you see Layla's tactics? She still pretends to be so noble and virtuous, but didn't she charm Anthony into giving her that expensive tiara?"

"Layla's with you for your money, Samuel... Ah!"

Nora's words were cut short by a sudden scream as Samuel's hand closed around her throat, pinning her against the car window.

"Bang-" Nora's panic was palpable, her throat so tightly constricted she couldn't make a sound.

The face of Samuel looming before her was terrifying, like a demon, his features twisted in anger.

"Mmm..." Nora pushed against his hand.

Samuel's grip tightened, the veins on his hands bulging with the exertion.

Was he trying to kill her? She couldn't breathe.

"If you say one more bad thing about Layla, I'll kill you!"

He flung her aside, and Nora tumbled from the seat, her head striking the seat in front.

Nora clutched her throat, coughing violently, tears streaming down her face.

She was reminded of the most humiliating night of her life - Samuel had sent men to intimidate her, and she was insulted by those goons, her clothes torn.

And tonight, Samuel had humiliated her.

The unresolved pain from the past ignited into a fire of hatred in Nora's heart. Nora despised Samuel. She despised him for trampling on her dignity, for the disgrace he'd put her through, and hated that he didn't love her.

But Nora harbored an even greater hatred for Layla; she was determined to send that woman to her doom herself.

In the week that followed, Layla seemed to exist as a hollow shell, devoid of the soul that once animated her. Her work performance plummeted, and Susan, her superior, approached her on multiple occasions, extending the offer of a temporary respite.

Layla, however, refused, acutely aware that solitude at home would only serve to intensify her mental torment.

On the seventh day, an impenetrable darkness clouded Layla's vision, and she succumbed to unconsciousness, only to awaken later in the sterile confines of a hospital room, with Alice keeping a vigilant watch by her side.

In the fleeting moments before reality reasserted itself, Layla had dreamt of Samuel. He had been the first person she saw upon waking. Reality, it seemed, could be a harsh mistress.

Barely feeling alive, Layla croaked, "Where's my phone?"

"You need to rest now, forget about the phone," Alice advised.

"Give it to me, please, the phone," Layla implored, her voice carrying the urgency of a critically ill patient in dire need of medication.

Reluctantly, Alice surrendered the phone to her.

A missed call. Could it be from Samuel?

Layla swiftly swiped to check, only to find that the call had originated from Anthony.

She then navigated to Facebook, her heart fluttering with the hope of a message, only to be met with disappointment.

Over the past few days, Layla had been relentlessly dialing Samuel's number, dispatching a barrage of messages, but it was as if her desperate attempts had been swallowed by the depths of the ocean, utterly disregarded.

The desperate glimmer in Layla's eyes dimmed instantly.

"You're not going to hear from Samuel. Just let it go," Alice advised, her hand gently patting Layla's shoulder.

The most grueling phase for a woman post-breakup was accepting the harsh reality.

But Layla yearned to try one more time; she couldn't reconcile with the fact that it was over.

"Do you know any doctors?" she asked.

"My aunt works at this hospital," Alice responded.

"Could you do me a favor?" Layla asked, her fingers clutching Alice's hand.

That evening.

As Samuel was departing from a social event, leaving the club after attempting to drown his sorrows in alcohol, his head pounded with pain. Just as he was about to slide into his car, he spotted Layla from the corner of his eye.

The temperature had plummeted drastically over the last two days, and yet there was Layla, clad only in a thin, long-sleeved shirt.

Was Layla attempting to freeze herself to death?

Instinctively, Samuel began to shrug off his jacket.

But in an instant, Samuel's movement ceased abruptly.

'No,' Samuel thought, 'you mustn't.'

His deep-set eyes darkened.

He reined in all his emotions, averted his gaze, and coldly turned to get into his car without casting a second glance at Layla.

"Samuel," Layla called out, catching up with him, "I need to talk to you."

"We've said all there is to say. Don't waste any more time."

"I just have a few words, and it won't take long," Layla pleaded.

Mr. Vandella stood by the car door.

Inside, the car was eerily silent.

"If you have something to say, say it."

Samuel spoke, his voice dropping like a stone into a cold, dark abyss.

Layla closed her eyes, clenched her fingers, and hesitantly pulled out a piece of paper from her bag and handed it to him.

Samuel unfolded it to see it was a hospital surgical form.

"I had an abortion," Layla said, trembling, her eyes carefully studying his reaction.

Before coming, Layla had made up her mind: if Samuel showed anger or even a hint of reluctance in his eye, it meant he must have had his reasons, and she would persist no matter what. However, to her disappointment, Samuel's gaze was terrifyingly calm, devoid of any discernible emotion.

Layla's heart sank.

How could Samuel feel nothing?

This was their baby.

After a glance, Samuel even managed a smirk. "Are you already preparing to move on to the next man? Anthony?"

Layla, stung by the implication, slapped Samuel across the face.

Samuel took the slap without much reaction. He just touched his face and looked at her indifferently. "You show me this as if you want compensation? How much, name your price."

Layla was shaking with rage. "Is our relationship something you think can be dismissed with money? Are you insulting me, or yourself?"

Samuel seemed unfazed, replying with a cold smirk, "As I see it, all women can be bought with money. You came all this way to tell me, if not for money then why?"

"I aborted our child, and you don't feel any sorrow?" Layla asked furiously.